White Christmas

Whoever thought it was a good idea to celebrate the holidays in a cabin on a mountain is an idiot. I keep telling my parents that, and every other person who decided to attend too. Sure enough I'm joking most of the time, but there's a core of truth here: I really don't want to freeze my ass off during Christmas. And as it so happens, I'm going to. The weather forecast promises nothing but snow, a white Christmas after all these years. The last time I saw such a thing is ten years ago, when I re

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Swinger Christmas

Cody moved over to the corner of the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window of the penthouse party room at the top of the high-rise. At one angle we was looking down at the busy E. Colfax Avenue in Denver. The other wall of window overlooked the Denver Zoo. He took a swig of his drink more so that it looked like he was drinking than that he wanted to drink. In truth, he would have liked to get drunk, but this was definitely not the time or place for it.

He did what he could not to lo

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Driving Home for Christmas

The epilogue to the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong


Jake looked over at me and we grinned at each other.

I was desperately pleased to see him and I could see that he was pretty chuffed to see me, even though he hadn't found the time to phone home in over a fortnight.

Traffic was fairly quiet and I managed to pull out of his university residence onto the main road.

I looked over at him again on

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Jake's Christmas Present

The final part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong



>> I wanted to add a message to this final part of 'Butt Monkey' to say, firstly, thanks for reading and following my story (especially if you've very kindly messaged me to express your appreciation) and, secondly, to find out if you would like me to write a sequel.

>> 'Butt Monkey' started out as a fairly straightforward thr

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Christmas on a Stick

You've been after me all evening to open your Christmas gift to me as soon as the others had left—and this after you'd pestered me about what I wanted for Christmas even after I'd given you that flippant answer. It had just been an expression, something to stave you off after you'd put me off that last time and then wouldn't accept that I didn't need anything for Christmas.

You'd had this Christmas Eve party at your place and insisted that I be there and that I stay after to help

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Christmas in July

The corners of Larry Hale's mouth turned up as he watched the Ford Explorer attempting to back the pop-up camper into the campsite without hitting the tree or the fire ring. In the year and a half that he'd been staying at the Creekside Campground, he'd seen about a dozen campers hit the tree separating his site from the weekenders' site.

Truth be told, the weekenders usually annoyed the crap out of him. This was his home for now. The weekenders came with their coolers filled with

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Marlee's Christmas Gift

I took one last look at the antique broach, closed the lid of the velvet box, got up from the desk, slipped the box into the jacket pocket of the clothes I'd laid out on the chair next to my studio couch, and came back to the desk. I'd left the drawer open. I took out the worn stack of postcard-size photographs I kept in the drawer and started shuffling through them, looking for inspiration.

I had pulled out all of the stops on the broach I was giving Marlee for Christmas. We'd me

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